A Backseat Romance
by Black Shirts Red Tears
Summary: Lucifer lures Dean into the backseat of the Impala and reminds him why he's the devil.


**Disclaimer**: I don't own Supernatural. I just like watching the characters be stupid.

**Characters**: Dean Winchester and Lucifer

**Summary**: Lucifer lures Dean into the backseat of the Impala and reminds him why he's the devil.

**Warning**: Contains rape and talk of suicide.

Rated M for language and sexual content.

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"I told you to keep the fuck away from my car!"

"Fuck you, Dean. I do what I want." Lucifer's hand waved Dean's concern away as he grew closer and closer to the Impala that the Winchester held so sacred. But Dean wasn't stupid; he wouldn't try to force an Archangel away from his "baby," and Lucifer knew it. So when the devil crawled into the backseat, rolled down the window, and shouted out at the hunter, "Well, are you coming?" – Dean just stood there.

Lucifer waited for a few moments before beckoning him closer with his finger. "You don't want me to get out and fetch you myself. Get over here – before you find out what kind of massive blood kink I have." The human swallowed thickly and stepped toward the car – slowly, tentatively, reluctantly. All these things seeped out of him and made its way to Lucifer's nerves, which jumped like a preteen on a trampoline. Oh. This would be one hell of a ride, that was for damn sure.

Before Dean could even open the door, Lucifer was leaning out of the window and grabbing onto his leather jacket. "Son of a bitch!"

"That's my father you're talking about, ___prick_," Lucifer replied casually, and with a violent tug, he had Dean flying through the open window and into the backseat of the car. The hunter hit his head on the far door and groaned as he tried to sit up, vision blurring. Cold lips attacked his neck, and he hissed in disgust.

"The fuck –!"

"That's the plan, yes," replied the Archangel lowly, forked tongue moving to press against a soft spot behind the hunter's ear. His hand pressed between Dean's legs, massaging enthusiastically, trying to work him into hardness. It didn't take that long. The hunter's vision was still hazy, but when Lucifer stopped attacking his neck, he could make out two blue eyes staring at him, only inches away from his own. When the Archangel's freezing hand made its way down Dean's pants, the only objection the hunter made was a stifled grunt. "How do you like it, Dean?" he asked. "Hard? Fast? Dry?" He wasn't given a response. Dean was too preoccupied with bucking into Lucifer's hand.

Didn't take much encouragement. Filthy whore.

"Speak now or forever hold your peace," Lucifer offered. Still no response. Dean was trying to hold on to what little dignity he had left.

So Lucifer didn't offer a second chance. Not speaking was the same thing as agreeing, in his opinion. (God have mercy on mutes.) So he tore into Dean's jeans – grasped the denim and literally tore it – until the button popped off, the zipper was rendered useless, and the seam was mangled into a sorry state of disrepair. The brutal action caused Dean to gasp. He white-knuckled the upholstery of the car, daring to risk a glance at Lucifer, who smiled up at him in a way that said,___Don't worry, Dean. I won't hurt you._He may not lie with words, but the devil had a fondness of doing it with looks.

He took Dean's cock in his mouth – sucked violently and with too much teeth, but the hunter didn't seem to mind. The pain grounded him through the supernatural chill Lucifer's tongue and lips gave, and it wasn't long before he was bucking up into that icy throat. His hand came to rest on the back of Lucifer's head, trying to push him down farther, trying to get in deeper – but try as he might, the devil didn't comply. In fact, he went at a shallow snail pace, just to spite the eager human.

After Dean had been at that spot of ___almost there_for nearly five minutes, Lucifer finally rose to his knees and started to make quick work of his own jeans. "Hands and knees," he demanded. Dean was quick to obey. Lucifer yanked the denim down to expose a perfect, quivering ass. He couldn't wait to bury himself inside of it.

Despite the dryness and the pain that was sure to come, Lucifer dove straight into Dean, pushing so hard that the car rocked. The hunter begged for him to stop – go slower, ___please just wait for a moment_ – but his pleas could barely be heard, let alone considered, above the maniacal cackling of the devil. Dean whimpered – once, twice, three times – and blood trickled down his right thigh. "Like a fucking virgin at prom night," Lucifer whispered into his ear. Dean made a choking sound. "What, bitch? Going to cry? Go ahead. Who the fuck do you have to impress? Sammy?" A grunt in response. The hunter was grinding his teeth. He was trying very, very hard. Hunters had a high pain tolerance – unless the pain was an Archangel's dry cock. "Sammy's not ___here_, cunt," Lucifer reminded him, pushing in harder. "He won't hear you if you scream if you did it for hours. He's too busy jerking off to lesbian porn in your motel room. Sammy's none the fucking wiser. Bitch can't save you now. And by the time you get back to him, you'll be drowning in guilt and shame, won't you?"

"Fuck you." Dean was breaking.

"You'll take a bullet straight to the head because you got fucked by the devil and you liked it."

"Fuck you!"

"All those pretty guns, Dean. Which one will you use? What will your note say? 'Dear Sammy – He's coming for you next. Better hope he brings the lube.'"

Dean finally broke down, sobbing with his forehead pressed against the seat. Lucifer laughed – laughed and laughed and laughed – as he came in the hunter, filling him with his frosty seed.

Five minutes later, and Dean realized the only sound was his own sobbing. He turned and found that Lucifer was gone, leaving nothing but a mess of cum, blood, and tears behind.


End file.
